Tithed
by 14InAHeart
Summary: Young Feliciano Vargas is a tithe. He is a holy sacrifice to the Lord, and he is happy with this fate. A volunteer, labeled "The Holy One" and a good friend of Feli's, seems to disagree. Drama. Alternate Universe. Chibitalia x HRE.


The hall was quiet. The walls stood, slightly dusty but bright against the midnight-blue atmosphere just outside the large, crystal windows.

As young Feliciano sauntered through the scene, he turned his head, admiring every last detail of the room, from the sculpted border to the dainty, antique wooden furniture. He swallowed a slight hint of regret at the sight. After all, even if the decision had been a bad one, which it wasn't, it wasn't his choosing. His steps echoed through the cold air as he gradually moved towards his father's work desk.

Without a word, he shifted his vision from object to object upon the aged wooden surface. There was a new, unsealed and crisply folded envelope thrown onto the surface. It felt entirely out-of-place. Then there was the large white feather that had been plucked from the neighbor's chicken. Little Feliciano had just adored when he was handed the prize as a toddler. "Little kids are odd like that." he thought to himself as he silently chuckled at the memory. There was his father's pen and pencil. He had always given a fuss when either would go missing as he claimed that they were extremely necessary for his work. In the past, Feliciano had known to keep his distance from the objects, but as he admired them, he noticed little details that he never had before; the shiny, metallic pen appeared brand new minus a few very noticeable fingerprints left to dull its shine. He had never noticed the beautifully placed Golden accents on it either. The pencil was actually a sketch-artist pencil. Unlike he expected a music composer to use, it was an HB grade Staedtler.

His eyes wandered to the light stack of papers gently placed atop the corner of the desk. His father's work. Feliciano hesitated for a moment, focusing his vision on the floating dust on the shaft of moonlight before him. Then, he moved a shaky hand to the papers and brushed his fingertips along the top sheet. He cautiously felt the slightly rough tooth, noting how well the paper would have been for sketching. He felt through the sheet of paper thoroughly before lifting up the top to reveal the next sheet.

He continued to feel through the papers, occasionally quietly humming a simple tune from one of them or carefully fingering the slightest crease. He glanced upon each title, reading them and pondering their meanings until he got to one that read, "Unwind Request Form"

Feliciano smiled to himself, bathing in a newfound pride he had. He pulled the form out from under the stack of sheet music and read through it completely. It stated all his personal information: his full name, gender, reason for being unwound, etc. He lovingly ran his finger over his parents' names, just barely smudging the sharp, penciled handwriting.

He bit his lip. Once again, he found a hesitant hand moving towards another object on the desk. His father's beloved pencil. He meticulously picked it up off of the dusty wood and brought its eraser down on the unwind form. He slowly rubbed it against a pencil mark, leaving tiny, pink pieces on the page. Then, swiftly flipping the writing tool around, he checked the other box.

"What are you doing?"

Feliciano jumped, nearly marking the paper again, and turned to face his doom. His brother, Lovino, stood too close for comfort, peering at the form.

"You're not going to get away with that. Why do you even want to be a girl anyway? I always knew you were an odd one."

Feliciano froze in place, gently dropping the pencil onto the desk. The little click of the landing seemed to ring throughout the room in an echoing clank.  
Swallowing his fear, he looked his older brother in the eyes, "I don't want to be a girl."

"You lying bastard! Why did you check 'Female' then?"

"I... I don't know..."

Lovino sighed, trying to calm himself to best control the situation. When Feliciano got nervous like he was, Lovino could never get him to open up without holding back some of his own temper. Therefore, in a last moment like this, Lovino didn't want to walk away feeling guilty, so he pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered, "Take your time. Think about what you are doing."

Feliciano nodded in appreciation towards Lovino's gesture and took a deep breath in and closed his eyes. He exhaled the breath, and his eyes fluttered open once again. "I'm scared." he replied.

"Why! Feli, that makes no sense!"

"I... I just want a secret of my own. Something that they can't touch."

"You don't trust the camp?"

Feliciano shook his head slowly, awaiting the snappy reply. But instead of snapping, Lovino's voice was even calmer, and he took painfully long pauses between sentences, "You don't have to trust the workers. I wouldn't either. The only one you must trust, Feliciano Vargas, is God himself. These people are only doing a favor for God, but they are not in any way holy."

Feliciano slowly nodded in understanding. He let out another slow breath, smiling at his brother's words. Lovino continued, "But even if you don't trust these people, you have nothing to be afraid of. You are in His hands. You have been in His hands since the day you were born. Nobody can take that away from you."

Feliciano nodded yet again. He fought the growing urge to thank his brother a million times over and squeeze him in a death hug in hopes of more kind words. And he got that wish. Lovino went on, "And you know as sure as hell that whoever gets your eyes is going to have the ladies fall at his feet with a single glance. Whoever gets those hands will go one to be the world's greatest artist. Whoever gets your lips will find themselves being tortured with a never-ending smile that will light up the room and blind everyone in its path."

Feliciano had giggled a little too loudly at that point, and he averted his eyes. His brother was never so kind.

"And most importantly, Feliciano, whoever gets your stomach is going to have to be richer than the president himself, 'cause the poor kid is going to be craving expensive gourmet pasta everyday. Ooh, that sorry kid's gonna get fat!"

"Thanks, Lovi." Feliciano chuckled, not daring to say much more.

"That wasn't a compliment!"

"It was to me!"

Lovino found himself awkwardly wrapped in his brother's arms as he was pulled into the fifteenth death hug that day alone, but for once, he didn't pull away, and he stood in growing discomfort for a moment until his brother pried himself away from him. "Come on now, we have to get to bed before Roderich catches us." Lovino's voice had gone monotonous. He fiddled with his shirt's long sleeves and turned his head.

"His name is Dad, but okay." Feliciano's voice lilted sleepily, and he folded the form up, placed it in the envelope from the desk, and sealed it. Romano said no word of protest or agreement as Feliciano slid the sealed envelope under the stack of sheet music.

Feliciano took his brother's hand and dragged him, nearly skipping out of the hall and to their room as if the next day meant nothing to him or anyone else.


End file.
